Dry
by TillThatTime
Summary: Hot breath licks up a pale, trembling ear, "You're stuck in my head, ripping your way through my chest, and I want to hate you, Avatar, but you've taken everything from me. Even my ability to do that." ZAANG, ANGST, STRONG SLASH, MATURE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Let me check...yeah, almost 99 percent sure I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

**A/N:** Ok, so I re-uploaded this story in order to fix a few errors with it. This is my first A:TLA fiction, though I'm a fairly known author in other fandoms. I just recently started watching Avatar, and I am already mildly obsessed. Though it hasn't reach the point of being frightening...yet. I have found myself loving to read Zukka, but this I found intriguing because I haven't seen very many. This is Aang/Zuko, and if you don't like that sort of thing...eh, do what you will. I'm sure I can take it. I warn you now, this is not a happy fic, I hardly ever wright those anyways. The next chapter will give a little more info then this one does. Read on. Much Love!

TillThatTime

**Warnings**: Slash! Dark! Mature content in later chapters.

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**Dry**

His lips are always dry.

He can taste the bitter copper of blood as he runs his tongue along the cracks, and he grimaces at the inconvenience of the taste. The fire drys them out.

Fire seems to dry everything out.

He watches through narrowed eyes as the boy in front of him struggles weakly against the iron clasps that hold him. He pulls and tugs and pulls and tugs, there's never really any result and yet he keeps on trying.

The trusty little Avatar and his god damn will.

The boy cries out softly as he falls roughly to the stone floor, his back slamming against the jagged unevenness of the wall in the process. His body shakes from the fever that was brought by the injury he sustained in the capture.

"_How do you capture the Avatar?"_

"_Why, catch him unawares, of course."_

A striking blow to the head while he dreamt of pretty, little waterbenders seemed to do the trick. Poor little Avatar in the claws of the big, bad wolf.

The boy curls into himself and Zuko almost wishes he could have the pleasure of hearing the little bastard cry.

"Wear yourself out, Avatar?" His voice is cold and there is a hint of a cruel underlining message in the question that is supposed to be so simple.

"Wait, Zuko." The name slithers off the Avatar's tongue in the most disdainful of ways. The revolting cheeriness that usually accompanies the boy's tone is forgotten in the shadows of the prison cell.

"You are in no place to be threatening."

"And yet here I am, Zuko, promising you that you'll soon realize your mistake."

"Grown bold in these past three years, Avatar? Or is the idea of that pretty peasant girl screaming out for mercy getting the better of you?"

The boy swiftly pulls himself into a sitting position, his eyes glowing with fury as he makes a lunge at Zuko, the chains being the only thing keeping him from making contact with the Fire Nation prince. "I swear by the gods, Zuko-"

He has no time to finish, as Zuko's fingers have already made their way painfully around his slender neck.

"You swear what?" The words are drawn out and threatening. The Avatar can feel the heat of Zuko's breath, his face only centimeters away from his own.

"I swear I'll kill you someday."

"No, you won't." Zuko drawls, his voice dangerously low. "It's too harsh for you. You can almost feel their last breath leave their body, even if you're meters away. It's cold and deliberate, and oh-so-cruel for a _monk_."

"I'll make an exception." The boy spat back, his voice wavering beneath his bravado.

A sneer pulls Zuko's cracked lips as he lets go of the boy's neck and stands up suddenly, walking gracefully back towards his place against the opposite wall.

They continue on in silence for minutes that seem like centuries. It's a staring match. A battle of the wits. Good versus the presumed evil. A game neither will come out victorious in.

It would be so easy to break his neck. He is weak and his powers are drained from the struggle. Just so easy to curl his fingers around that tattooed neck and twist just a little too hard...

And he would deserve it too.

It's all because of him. Everything. Shame threatens to strangle him all because of some little _fucking_ fifteen year old. His father's denial is not _his_ own fault, because it's easier to pin blame to someone whose just so worthy of the accusation.

Zuko swears by the gods that he hates him. Hates what he stands for. Hates what he promises. Hates what he has. Spoiled Fire Nation brat jealous of the monk, oh-so-ironic, and yet, so undeniably true.

"What do you want, Zuko?" The younger boy blurts out, not knowing exactly why the prince is still standing there.

_I don't know_.

Zuko lets out a harsh laugh, his voice bouncing off the stone walls. "What a terribly funny question, Avatar." The words seep through his gritted teeth, strained and full of something the younger boy cannot place. The words etch a memory into the Avatar's mind and he realizes Zuko is not laughing any more, because it's suddenly not funny.

"You're meaningless, Avatar." He says quite suddenly. It's a lie, of course, The Avatar means _everything, _especially to him, but it has always been easier to just lie.

The boy looks up suddenly from where his grey eyes had been focused on the floor. His expression holds uncertainty, as if he is trying to persuade himself to say what is about to fall from his lips.

"Tell me Zuko, how does it feel to know that you're not living up to little sis' reputation?"

The blood drips onto the floor from where Zuko's fingernails drive into the skin of his palm. His breath quickens, but he remains where he stands.

"You tread on very dangerous lines, Avatar." He struggles to keep his voice calm.

"How does it feel to know that honor is something that you will never possess?" The boy continues on, ignoring his own gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. He isn't used to being harsh. He isn't used to speaking with the intent to hurt.

"Do not speak to me of honor!" Zuko's voice begins to rise as his entire body shakes uncontrollably.

"You're a disgrace, and it must _kill _you to know that there is nothing you can do about it."

And within a matter of seconds he has the boy pinned to the cold, stone floor, his fingers once again clutching the pale skin of his neck. The Avatar can feel the heat from Zuko's fingertips and he squirms to break free.

"Oh, how I wish to kill you, Avatar. To make you feel everything you've put me through these past three years. To have you scream for it to stop. To have you beg for me to. Just. End. You."

The words come out through gritted teeth, and the Avatar feels something wet hit the side of his cheek. He does not want to believe that tears are falling from Zuko's eyes, so he closes his own, choosing to ignore it all.

Besides the fact that his eyes are shut, the boy makes no sign of being affected at all, and Zuko wants to scream at him. Wants to scream at him to be scared, to be frightened of him, because if Zuko has earned anything, it's that. It pushes him further into rage to know that the Avatar does not fear him, and he wishes for just one tremble, one cry, to reassure him that he has _something_.

An idea dances wickedly into his mind, and Zuko wastes no time thinking on it as he begins to put it into play.

His fingers find the buttons of the younger boy's shirt and he feverishly begins to pull them apart, a nasty sneer curls his lips as he does. The boy's eyes fly open as he feels this, as he feels Zuko straddle and undress him. He begins to struggle once more, but Zuko has him effectively pinned.

Zuko runs his nails along the Avatar's bare chest before discarding him of his shirt completely. The boy finally cries out as Zuko's hands find the tie of his pants and his movements are halted. He leans in close to the bald boy's ear, noting how the boy shakes violently beneath him.

"Something wrong, Avatar?" He says in a low voice, his lips brushing the other boy's ear.

"Don't Zuko, please don't." His voice is barely above a whisper but there is no mistaking the fear. Zuko smirks, satisfied by the reaction. He places a single finger against the Avatar's lips. They are dry like his own.

Air dries them out.

"You do not know me, Avatar. Never again will you speak as if you do." He stands up suddenly and watches as the other boy curls himself into a ball on the floor, his body still trembling. As he watches the boy, he feels his stomach churn and its contents threaten to spill. Ignoring his sickness, he turns away from the terrified captive and heads out of the cell.


	2. The Drug

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, and the plot line of this story is purely fabrication from the inner depths of my extremely warped mind.

**A/N**: Ok, woohoo, second chapter! Thank you to all my lovely reviews, they will keep this story going. I will give more information about what is actually going on in the present life of the Avatar as the story progresses but at the moment I am just keeping things vague. Much love!

TillThatTime

**Warning**: ANGST!

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**The Drug**

The tension between his shoulder blades is enough of an inconvenience to keep his mind off of the nauseating feeling that has settled itself in his stomach. He leans against the metal walls of his cabin as he lets out the breath of air the he hadn't even been aware that he was holding. He reaches up to rub away the knot that has formed and an involuntary groan escapes his lips as moves his hand to work it away.

He is frustrated.

He reasons with himself that it is only because the boy has that damnable ability to really get under his skin and make him wish to Agni that he could just fry his face off with one fatal flick of the wrist and be done with him...

But, no.

That's not all there is to it, it sure as hell is a part of it, but there always has to be something more.

He feels ashamed.

Though he would never befoul himself by admitting it, in the depths of his mind, in the thoughts that he has long since locked away, he knows that he feels shame for what he did to the little bastard.

He sees those eyes, grey and full of life. Wide and filled with accusation. Shining with that unmistakable look of terror.

Fear of being deflowered brutally on the cold stone floor of some stench-ridden prison cell.

Fear of him.

His hands tremble as he stares down at them, both eyes, good and scarred, narrow at the sight of his obvious physical stigma, and a growl escapes his throat as he slams the treacherous hands up against the metal-working of his walls.

His breathing is shallow and he slumps to the floor from the exhaustion that has just now made itself apparent. He buries his face in his hands, his fingers entwining painfully into his hair as he wills himself to calm down.

To harden.

To be a man.

To drive away this feeling that screams of weakness and straighten himself back up to a position that signifies strength and dignity and everything that he's supposed to be.

Bu he can't do it.

No yet.

Because when he's alone, in the confines of his room, there is no more hiding. There is no pretending to be this strong-willed monster that he has fabricated for the world to see. There is only sickening truth that haunts him and taunts him and pisses him off to no end while the lies wait impatiently on the other side of the door.

So for a minute he will curl into his weakness and show only the walls that surround him what it looks like when the mighty fall.

In the past only his uncle had the displeasure of witnessing him like this, but now after one night of betrayal he is utterly alone and he tries to make his mind believe that he is better off this way when he thinks about Iroh locked away in a comfortably furnished room with plenty of tea, but a prisoner nonetheless.

Of course, aren't they really all just prisoners anyways? Prisoners of this god-forsaken war that has taken so much and given nothing in return. Captives to a time that no one can escape while he has the only hope for the world locked away to be beaten and molested by hands that only strive to receive the honor that he is no longer sure that he deserves.

"_How does it feel to know that honor is something that you will never possess?" _

Those snide words ring dangerously in his ears and his fist clench, causing the knuckles to turn a sickly white.

He rises suddenly, his jaw set firmly in place as his mind screams through all of his being that he _does_ deserve his honor. He has worked, and sacrificed, and crawled his way through and that no little amount of guilt over a fucking insignificant, fifteen year old god-boy is going to change that fact.

He walks swiftly over to a small box that sits on a table opposite his cot and his mind jumps suddenly to the realization that the Avatar's ill state will not keep him incapacitated for long.

But something else will.

He opens the box slowly as he peers inside to look at its contents. In it sets a row of vials protected by the ragged bits of cloth surrounding them. He lifts one gingerly in his fingers, observing it through narrowed eyes.

The murky looks of the liquid in the vial betray its strength. It had been hard to come by, damn near impossible almost, but you can get almost anything in the world if you have enough money and you know where to look.

A sneer comes to his lips as he thinks about the power that lies inside the glass bottle. The ability to halt any type of bending and if you up the dosage, all four elements at once. Most don't even know that such a thing exists, but here it is, clutched in between his fingers and ready to do the job it was created to do.

He finds himself standing at the Avatar's cell door once more and he opens it, dismissing the guards that surround it. He walks in slowly, taking in everything that surrounds him before inevitably falling to the boy who sits curled in the corner.

The boy is watching him through wary eyes and as he approaches he notices how the boy flinches, pushing himself further into the wall, as if that would protect him, and he has to once again push away that damn feeling of guilt. His skin is pale and slick with sweat and Zuko has to wonder for a moment if it is from sickness or fear.

Or possibly both?

"Straighten up." He commands harshly to the boy and the Avatar doesn't even act as if he hears him. With a vexed growl he grabs him roughly by the shoulders to straighten him, and the boy lets out a groan of pain.

"Don't touch me, Zuko." He breathes out hoarsely and it is Zuko's turn to pretend he doesn't hear. He begins to examine to wound on the back of the boy's head and he tries to ignore the way the Avatar tries to wiggle out of his firm grasp.

"I said, don't touch me." He repeats, his voice rising and cracking from the effort. Zuko continues to hold on firmly as he applies some of the medicine that he brought with him to the wound.

"Get off me!" The boy screams and Zuko finds himself thrown ten feet back from a burst of wind that has come from the injured Avatar. He watches as the boy slumps back in exhaustion and Zuko rises slowly to his feet, knowing the he can't put off the inevitable.

He pulls the vial out from under his sash and holds it out. "Drink this." He commands in a soft voice and the boy gives him an incredulous look that all but screams 'Do you think I'm an idiot?'

"No." Comes the soft response, and Zuko finds himself angered by this expected refusal. He lunges at the boy, pinning him down completely and the Avatar's body goes completely rigid. He shakes his head back and forth, the word "don't" forming on his blood stained lips.

He's just a kid.

Zuko forces the boy's mouth open as he pours the vile liquid down the Avatar's throat. The boy gags and Zuko closes his mouth and waits for him to inevitably swallow. Once he is sure that the liquid has made its descent into the Avatar's stomach, Zuko lifts himself off the boy and watches.

The effects of the drug are violent, as he watches the boy throw his head back, a shout of pain escaping from his throat. The Avatar's body convulses and Zuko has to turn his head away to keep from looking. The screams fill the cold cell for seconds that seem like hours.

Then it stops, and the boy's body goes limp, and with tears streaming down his pale cheeks he can't find the strength to look up into his captor's face but he does whisper in a voice that would break Zuko's heart if it wasn't surrounded by stone, "What did you do to me?"

"Pleasant dreams, Avatar." He answers back, his cold tone giving away nothing of the battle that rages in his body. He turns and heads out of the cell, locking it securely behind him.

His mind works vigorously to block out the image of what he had just witnessed. It had been sickening to watch, but after all, it's a sick world.


	3. The Stench of Comfort

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender, for if I did it would definitely not be able to be aired on Nick.

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long, I've been rather busy. I know it seems that Zuko is digging his own grave, but trust in the story, you'll hopefully be rewarded with what you want. I do warn that smut will not come for awhile, but do try to stick with me. Also, this is not a KIDS fic, it is extremely dark, and maybe disturbing to some...as you might find in this chapter. I thought it was about time I did a chapter in Aang's point of view, so here you are. Thank you to all the wonderful reviews. Much Love!

TillThatTime

**Warning:** Rated Mature for a reason!

**The Stench of Comfort**

It hurts.

Every part of his body, internal and external, screams with a type of agony that he had never deemed possible. He would have thought that the pain would have ended after the first few minutes of taking the vile drug, but no, the unbearable ache lingers.

It feels like every vein in his body has been frozen and shattered to the point of complete destruction, and the shivers that course through his spine feel like thousands of needles shoving their way harshly and relentlessly into his skin.

The sound of someone screaming echos in his ears and he covers them with his palms in an attempt to block out the terrifying sounds. He feels something hot and sticky seep onto the hands that he has clamped around his ears and he only faintly realizes that it's blood, whether it be from the poison or the rupturing effect of the piercing screams, he is not entirely sure, but that doesn't stop him from pushing harder against his blood soaked ears, trying desperately to escape the horrified cries. Yet, despite his best attempts to block them out, the screams remain in his head. It's only after one of the guards slams his hand against the bars of his cell and promptly tells him to "Shut the fuck up" does he realize that the pained screams are his own.

He trembles as he covers his mouth with his hand in an attempt to muffle the cries the rip from his throat, and he retches at the coppery taste of blood that invades his mouth, promptly emptying what little content he has in his stomach onto the cold floor.

At least when he's vomiting he isn't able to scream.

He feels his tears travel across the broken skin of his cheeks, and though he wishes to be anything but, he's scared. Scared, because he doesn't know what this damned drug is doing to him. Scared, because he isn't sure how he's going to get out of this place. Scared, because he has no idea if Katara's alright, and scared because he's only a kid and there's no one there to soothe the pain the courses through his body and tell him that everything will eventually be ok. He's cold, broken, terrified, and fifteen fucking years old. It isn't fair, and it hasn't been since the day they told him that he was to be the protector of the world.

It isn't as if he is one to complain, quite the contrary actually, but it's difficult not to feel bitter as he lies there on the freezing, uneven stone. He might even be pissed if he wasn't so god damn petrified.

However, despite the blinding pain that clouds his thoughts, in the back of his mind, past the fear and the hurt, the image of the man who did this to him etches its way into his memory, and permanently stains itself there.

Prince Zuko.

The man who had laid his hands upon his skin, who had eaten away at his dignity by causing him to cry out and plead for him to stop. The man who he had relinquished his pride to by begging with his eyes and his cries for him to kick him, spit on him, do anything, but _that_. No amount of time would ever be able to drive away that image of Prince Zuko fumbling with the strings of his torn and faded pants. Zuko had wanted to see fear in his eyes and, Gods damn him, he had gotten it.

For that man, and that man only, he could work up enough energy to be thoroughly pissed.

As he finally finishes emptying what they had given him to eat onto the floor, his falls back with a painful 'thud', his cheek resting against the cold floor, something that he finds oddly comforting. Though the screams have stopped, he cannot seem to halt the tears the fall relentlessly from his eyes. Never in his life has he wished so much for death. It isn't like him. He is strong, and immature, and happy. He is the boy that people look to when their own lives seem to be spiraling out of control. He has always been their rock.

And now he is breaking.

Death seems like a warm welcome compared to the hell that devours him now. The thought of starting over and being rid of this pain almost brings a smile to his cracked lips.

Almost.

He knows that no matter how much he currently might wish it, he cannot die. He cannot die because if the Avatar is anything, he is selfless. Dying is his own selfish desire and what good would it do the world for him to give up trying and waste his last breaths in this fucking cell?

Though death is out of his reach for the time being, he settles for sleep, not even attempting to fight it as his eyelids drift closed from the exhaustion that weighs them down.

* * *

He's screaming again, and this time not from the pain that lingers throughout him, though that is plenty of reason in itself. This time it is for an entirely different type of pain. He had seen her, had seen Katara, burning in front of him. He had seen her flesh begin to peel away from the bone, and the beautiful face that had brought him so many moments of happiness, engulfed in the heat of the flames.

He had reached for her, tried desperately to save her, but was held back by invisible bindings that, no matter how hard he struggled against, would not break. So he had settled for screaming. Screaming over and over again until his throat was raw and her body was marred beyond repair.

And then he had awoken.

But now he does not open his eyes, for he fears what will be brought by doing so. So he settles for keeping them tightly sealed shut, the blackness a slight comfort as he continues to let loose the screams that he is vaguely aware that he cannot stop.

He trembles in a ball on the floor, his clothes being further soiled by the dirt that clings to the stone.

And then he stills.

He feels a cool rag on his forehead and his breathing hitches, and still he does not open his eyes, because surely when he does this little ounce of comfort will vanish and the demons will return to consume him. The cloth moves lightly across his skin, wiping away dirt and caked on blood, and lingers on his lips and he welcomes the dampness of the rag into the cracks of his skin. He lets out a small whimper as the rag is pulled from his face and he fears that this is all he will receive, but is surprised when warm hands replace the cloth. He hears someone speaks and he is almost certain the words he hears are, "I didn't know it would be this bad." but he can't be sure. The warm hand rests gently on his forehead and he unconsciously leans into the touch.

This must be Katara, it has to be, only she could have this much warmth in her touch. With a small cry of delight, he blindly flings himself on the person, ignoring the painful protest of his body. He wraps his arms around the person's shoulders and buries his face in the crook of their neck. He feels the person stiffen, their hands resting straight at their sides, before they let out a hesitant breath and slowly rest their hands upon his waist.

It's comfort in one of its purest forms.

A fresh wave of tears roll down his cheeks and his entire body shakes with relief as he clings even tighter to this source of comfort.

"Katara..." The names slips peacefully off his tongue and once again, the body in his arms stiffens. Slowly, he feels hands being placed on his shoulders as he is pushed almost gently away by the person that is supposed to love him the most, and he decides to finally open his eyes to confront her, to ask her way she would push him away when he needs her so much.

As his vision clears his own eyes meet with amber ones. These eyes are uniquely beautiful, entrancing and cold...

These eyes do not belong to Katara.

A ragged sob falls from his lips as he falls away from Prince Zuko, his back brushing against the rock that makes up his prison walls. He looks into those eyes that he wishes he could escape. His own eyes are pleading for an answer. How dare he touch him like that after everything he's done to him? He wants to know, needs to know, and all Zuko can manage is a soft, "I couldn't stand the screaming."


	4. Conversations

**Disclaimer:** Don't own. No profit.

**A/N:** So, it's been what, like four years? Yeah, sorry about that, really. However, I now have a renewed interest in this story so I'd like to get it back on its feet. Remember, this story was written right after the end of Season 2, so season 3 doesn't exist in it. Zuko's still the enemy and the king of poor decision making. This story is all about the psychological angst and a warped relationship, and though that kind of stuff is right up my alley, it is taxing to make Zuko so bi-polar, though hopefully worth it. I also noticed the length of these chapters is kind of short, but the more I think about it, the more I think it works for this story because it's only supposed to be glimpses at a very confusing relationship. This chapter picks up right where the last one left off. I welcome back any of my old readers as well as any new ones! You have my devotion and appreciation.

Much love,

TillThatTime

**Warnings: **Extremely dark themed.

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_Conversations_

He sits in a corner of the small cell, chewing on words he'll probably never say. The ground beneath him is hard and unforgiving and staining his pristine clothes, and he hears his sister's mocking tone in his head, speaking of weakness over an event she will never even know about, and not for the first time he wonders if she will truly follow him everywhere.

The air is damp and lacking in air and heat and so full of _irony_ that he feels sick. He unconsciously reaches up and pulls at his hair, manipulating the strands until they cover his scar and then he brushes them away and starts all over. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, rolling occasionally up in his head when he looks for too long and they start to water. There's shallow breathing coming from somewhere on the opposite wall of him but he chooses to ignore it, because it's not his problem, he tells himself, it's really not.

"What are you still doing here?"

Perhaps the tone was meant to be harsher than it was, but the Avatar is weak and the words come out brittle in the air around them, and Zuko's mind promises that that's not his problem either.

It's a damn good question.

He chooses not to speak, because he's a prince and the Avatar is a prisoner and he doesn't have an answer anyway.

"Get out."

And a mirthless smirk cracks his chapped lips because when over the years had the little bastard learned to speak like that?

"Is this your property?" He hopes his tone is as mocking as he believes it to be, but he hasn't spoken in awhile and his throat might have cracked.

"It is my death place. What greater ownership can one have over a piece of land?"

Finally, _finally_, he looks over at the Avatar at those choice of words. The boy is half leaning, half lying against the opposite wall from him. There's still blood caking his sickeningly white skin and redness has formed around his eyes, and almost immediately Zuko wants to turn away because the joy he's supposed to feel at seeing this has abandoned him in the cold space that separates them.

"Your death place?" Zuko barks out, incredulous, not really believing he has heard right.

"Is it not?"

And anything Zuko might have said is tucked back down his throat because it's probably true. He isn't sure exactly what has happened to the Avatar's little rag-tag gang of followers, and now that he has the object of his obsession he really doesn't care but whatever it is, it probably isn't good. There is no one coming to save him, and now, in this state, there is no way out. If there's no formal execution the savior of the world will probably die alone in a cell that has long since reeked of death.

_Will they make me a crown out of your bones, Avatar?_

His stomach lurches and fuck everything that tells him he should feel guilty because this is what he has always wanted.

He has the Avatar's, the Savior's, the King's, the Brat's head displayed for the world to see, humanity has no place trying to step on his victory.

And the crowning achievement is the fact that he has the boy displayed before him admitting his defeat and accepting his death. It is so fucking _righteous_ it's dizzying, absolutely _euphoric_.

But still, where's the fight? Why, after everything, has it suddenly become so easy? The moment feels cheap, the victory more like defeat, because surely this isn't _the Avatar _sprawled before him speaking of death.

It wouldn't have been so hard to catch him in the first place.

"Is this really how you'll let it end?" And he regrets the words almost as soon as he says them, because he's supposed to sneer, supposed to humiliate. It's what's expected of him, so why can he never live up to those expectations?

The Avatar looks at him now, and Zuko's suddenly too unsure to look away. There's something in those gray eyes, something that just clicks as wrong, and really he wishes he could chalk it all up to a job well done.

"My powers are gone." It's not a question, and it's not said with any kind of emotion. It's just a simple fact, so he provides a simple answer.

"Yes."

"Where did you take them?" And suddenly he's reminded of a child because the Avatar speaks of his powers like Zuko has them hidden in a box somewhere, locked away, and maybe it's the loss of blood that has the boy speaking that way, but for a moment Zuko indulges him anyway.

"Nowhere. They're still inside you, the drug suppressed them."

"They're inside me?" The Avatar says it softly as if he's testing out the words and he doesn't truly believe it, and perhaps death is coming sooner for the boy than Zuko originally thought.

"I had forgotten what it was like."

"Forgotten what?"

"What it was like to be free of them." And it doesn't make any sense, because the Avatar has always been an airbender, has always had power, but then he remembers that the Avatar had also once been a child that had no concept of cruel destiny, but Zuko refuses to spare him pity for the childhood neither of them had had.

"Happy to be rid of them?" He sneers, so hoping that he can regain himself in these moments when the strength of mankind is so weak before him.

"It's agony."

And he almost laughs because what a riot it is, to speak of agony and freedom in the same sentence, as if the two could coincide, and yet, somewhere deep down, Zuko believes he may know what his enemy means.

"I never wanted this power." The Avatar's voice is thick now, slightly slurred and it must be becoming difficult for him to speak, but he carries on anyway. " I wished for it gone, for all of it to be gone…and now that it is…I feel…Gods…Should I thank you Prince Zuko, for destroying me?"

Tears fall silently down white cheeks and Zuko wishes that he had no concept of guilt.

"Crying _again_?" He wants to stab those words into the weak body before him, really finish the job of breaking him, because if he does, he can be done with this and he wont have to feel like a monster anymore.

The Avatar looks surprised for a moment, and he raises a shaking hand to catch the tears that are making a steady stream down his face, obviously having been unaware of them up until this point. He studies his fingers before letting out a harsh breath of air in a poor attempt of what Zuko can only assume is a scornful snort. He looks at Zuko once more, only this time there's a trace of fire beneath his sad eyes, and Zuko doesn't want to believe that the twisting feeling in his gut is a perverse form of relief.

There's life there after all.

"Are you going to hold me again if I am?" And maybe if they had been friends those words would have just been a playful jab and he could have socked him in the face and they could have laughed it off together, but he doesn't even have to remind himself that they're not friends nor have they ever been and the Avatar, in a last ditch attempt to gain some control was weakly trying to hurt him back.

Zuko is immediately on his feet, hands clenched at his sides, fire bubbling incessantly beneath the surface, because how dare this little _cunt_ bring that up? A lapse in judgment on the banished prince's part, to hear the pained cries of his prisoner and be moved by them. What had he been thinking to touch that skin with his own in a way that was not meant to inflict pain? If his father had only seen him in that moment cradling the Avatar n his arms like he was something, like he was _everything_.

_I should have snapped his neck the moment I touched him…but the screams, those fucking screams. They were everywhere. Inside me. Ripping through me. What was I supposed to do?_

And suddenly the anger's there, like it always is, torching his body from the inside out, and it's so insistent so unmanageable, because this child in one phrase reminds of everything he doesn't want to be. A prince who holds an enemy in his arms, and a liar who pretends that doesn't fucking matter.

"Do you want to die tonight, Avatar?" He roars, fire shooting from his mouth and nostrils, doing nothing to ease the burn within, and the airbender doesn't have enough pity to pretend to be frightened by this. His face remains unmoved as he struggles for breath, and Zuko feels something inside him tear.

"If not tonight, then how about tomorrow?" The Avatar asks calmly, coughing slightly, wiping the blood away from his lips once he's through, and as Zuko wages a war within himself, a battle for control, it hits him that maybe this was the boy's plan all along, and maybe all he seeks now is death by Zuko's hands.

_I'm tired of fighting and I'm tired of running. _

As he realizes that in killing him, Zuko would be giving him everything he wants, a voice screams out in agony in the back of his mind.

_Don't let him win! Not again, not again!_

Without a thought he goes to the corner where he had tossed the medication upon entering the cell and picks it up, quickly heading over to where the Avatar now watches him with weary eyes.

"What are you doi-" the query turns into a pained yelp when Zuko takes the boy's head into his hands and begins to inspect the damage. The Avatar begins to struggle, clawing at Zuko's hands like a frightened animal, trying desperately to get away, but Zuko ignores him as he begins to poor some of the medication onto a rag, only to apply it a half second later.

"There's little I can do. A medic will be in here later."

"Stop! Just stop! Kill me, don't touch me!" The Avatar's struggles have reduced as he takes deep breaths, trying to regain enough strength to speak. Zuko's eyes narrow, and he clasps both his hands on either side of the boy's head, before leaning closely into a bloody ear, noticing the shakes that rack through the body beneath him, whether from fear or pain, he's not sure.

"You're not going to die yet. We're not done here." He hisses, taking a small, though not entirely satisfying pleasure in the soft, broken cry that escapes the mouth next to his. He pulls away to look at the Avatar's face, noticing the way his eyes attempt to drift closed as he now struggles for consciousness. The smaller boy's mouth opens several times as he tries to speak before words actually come out.

"Stop touching me like this. It makes no sense. I don't want you touching me." The Avatar does not struggle anymore though.

"And I don't want to touch you. The world's full of disappointments." It's a childish answer but it's the best one he's got.

Gray eyes are no longer visible anymore as they are completely shut, but the Avatar takes the time to say one more thing. "Your touch feels like ice…"

His body falls limp and unconscious into the very arms he's been trying to escape for years, and the irony of it all is not lost on the prince of the Fire Nation.


End file.
